Chasing Blindly
by tookkia
Summary: Suddenly the small space between their faces was breached, and before Harry could even think about what was going on, lips crashed onto his parted mouth. The thunder roared, the rain poured, the ground shook. And Draco kissed him...Draco/Harry
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

**Disclaimer: Fanfiction wouldn't be here otherwise. J.K. Rowling, we are not worthy.**

* * *

The clouds grew darker with each passing second, laden with what could only be furious tumults of clear liquid. Icy and frigid, rain that pinched the skin, obscured the vision, that sent most sane people running for cover like racing drops of water on a windowpane. The wind howled, in a constant battle with the ever-threatening sounds of thunder rumbling and reverberating across the vast expanse of earth surrounding the area.

And yet the storm was seemingly forgotten to him. Or ignored. In either case, Draco continued to stride out into the openness, his lithe build allowing him to cover a significant distance, and his movements somehow still graceful.

Then again everything about him emanated graceful. Purposeful. That was what the blond Slytherin was. No matter how angry. No matter how irritated. A quintessential serpent, almost synonymous to a prowling cat, though Draco would curse the man that compared him to a kitty.

Nonetheless, there was no denying he was quite a sight. Even if he was outraged.

"Malfoy!"

Draco could hear someone treading behind him. Running. He quickened his pace.

"Malfoy, stop it already!"

Draco gave heed to the roars of nature and surged forward even faster.

"Fuck, Draco wait up!"

_Fucking Potter. Always the idiotic Gryffindor._ So maybe this camp thing had taken its toll on their … strained relationship. Hell, who was he kidding? Analytically speaking, he'd wanted to befriend Harry since the day he'd met him. And now they were just that, friends. Until—

"_Stupefy_!"

Draco felt his body stumble, his limbs giving out beneath him as he crashed into the now muddy terrain. _Bloody idiot, I'm going to_—

"_Enervate_. I'm sorry, Malfoy, but you wouldn't let me—"

"What part of 'leave me the fuck alone' did you not understand?"

Harry shook his head, and his emerald eyes seemed to almost glint with something behind his rain-spattered glasses. "You know I can't do that. Not anymore. Here, let me help you up—"

Draco pushed his offered hand away aggressively, spitting at him simultaneously. "Don't fucking touch me."

"But Draco—"

Draco heaved himself up hastily and pulled out his wand. "If you know what's good for you, you'll let me be, Potter." He winced slightly when a look of stabbing hurt crossed those emerald eyes, but his arm didn't falter. No, he would not show weakness.

"So that's how it's going to be then?"

"That's how it's always been, Potter."

Harry's fists clenched and his expression turned steely. "Things are changed now, Draco. There are no sides to choose anymore. We don't have to go back to hating each other. And these past months are more proof of that. You don't have to prove anyth—"

"Fuck these past months. And fuck you. I should have known better than to befriend the Boy Wonder."

"You don't mean that. You're just angr—"

"Fuck yeah I'm angry! And quit fucking looking at me like a pathetic girl. You've hated me before so you can hate me again."

"I never hated—"

"I'm done. Just shut up and go back to the cabin." He turned to leave with a disgusted scowl when suddenly—

"_Oof_!"

—Harry tackled him to the ground.

"What are you—_get the fuck off me_!"

"If you want to be a fucking prat, then fine."

"Bloody Gryffindor, I'm going to hex you into the next life!"

They squirmed on the ground, mud and rain splashing around their struggling bodies as they moved back and forth beneath the stormy sky.

"Bastard! You can't even fight like a girl!"

"Well at least I don't look like one!" Harry conveniently grabbed the back of his now brown-splattered hair and slammed it back into the muddy ground.

"Your humor tickles me, Potter, it really does. Try this for size." Draco returned the act by shoving Harry's face directly into the water-drenched dirt, covering his spectacles in a glossy sheen of dark chocolate.

Luckily the rain wiped them clean in time for Draco's next blow. Harry managed to grab hold of the swinging limb and twisted it at the last minute.

"_Arrggh_!"

Using his advantage, Harry quickly pulled Draco's other arm and straddled him from behind, one of Dudley's signature moves. The victim of years of bullying finally seemed to have paid off.

Draco struggled, but to no avail. He'd just been caught off guard. Finally after about thirty seconds, he laughed bitterly. "Alright, so you got me. What next, Potter? Are you going to report me? Wait, let me guess, you're going to let the mudblood—"

"Don't call her that."

"Call her what? A mudbloo—" he was caught short as Harry shoved his faced straight back into the mud, leaving him to simmer for a good five seconds before bringing him back up.

Draco sputtered angrily. "Oh how very mature, Potter! Still pining over her too I see—"

"Why did you get so angry?"

"Fuck off."

"Answer me!"

Draco spit out a wad of blood before laughing again. Sourly. "Are you seriously asking that question? If you don't know then you're even stupider than I thought."

"If you're talking about Ron—"

"Please. Why would anyone be jealous of—"

"Jealous?" Harry's grip slackened in surprise.

Draco didn't utter another word. Instead, he threw himself backward so that now Harry was on the ground, and in one swift move their positions were swapped, Draco straddling the other teen and their faces dangerously close.

Despite his disadvantage, however, Harry looked anything but scared. He stared up at the blond Slytherin with wide eyes. "You were jealous."

"No."

"But you just said—"

"I know what I said!"

"Then what the hell is your problem!"

A loud clap of thunder rolled over them, lightning showing them what they looked like all dirty and beaten up. It was a silent war, emerald into silver depths, and for a moment Draco didn't reply. And then: "You know want to know what my problem is? Then fine, let me show you."

Suddenly the small space between their faces was breached, and before Harry could even think about what was going on—

Lips crashed onto his parted mouth.

The thunder roared, the rain poured, the ground shook.

And Draco kissed him.

* * *

**Greetings. This is only the prologue for what will hopefully become a multiple-chaptered Drarry novel. Rated M for later chapters, and yes, said chapters will be much longer than this. If you are interested, please leave a few thoughts. I would appreciate it very much. Yay? Nay? Review please :)**


	2. Strange

**Author's Note: We will start at the beginning now, at which point both boys have already graduated from Hogwarts, Voldemort was defeated by Harry and the wizarding world is on its merry way. There will obviously be some AU things going on considering this is not a canon pairing, but most of it will unravel as the story proceeds.**

**Many thanks to all who reviewed. I am ever grateful. Here, a Drarry-shaped gingerbread cookie for each.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own, otherwise millions of HP fans would massacre me with this oh so controversial pair.**

* * *

"Are you really sure this is what you want to do Harry?"

"Of course he is! And blimey, Hermione, it's just camp."

"Yes, but Auror training starts next September. This camp could end up being a major distraction."

"It's just one year!"

"A year gone wasted!"

"Only because you don't understand the first thing about it!"

Harry, Hermione, and Ron all stood around a seemingly lifeless waste-basket lying on the floor. To anyone else it appeared to be only that, a faded yellow piece of metal, worn and bent with years of wear. But to Harry—

"Just because you can't fly doesn't mean—"

—it was his ticket to a place where he could finally be free of all the mayhem that seemed to be his life these seventeen years. They were few, and he was still young, but not even the trash can had enough dents to parallel his own. And to be perfectly honest, Harry was exhausted.

"Ronald, I can fly perfectly well, I'll have you know—"

He took a deep breath, relishing in the light breeze. Despite there being hardly any trees within the vicinity, a few leaves swirled around their heads, weaving an intricate pattern that seemed to have no beginning or end. One caught in Hermione's braid; she didn't notice.

"And besides, if it weren't for me—"

It was over. The war. Voldemort. Hogwarts. Dumbledore gone. Snape dead, a hero …

"I graduated didn't I? So what—"

And yet, for Harry, it never would be. He needed some kind of outlet. Somewhere plaguing thoughts of _him_ could not disturb him. Somewhere he could just be …

_Who? Myself? Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived? Savior of the Wizarding World? The Chosen One? _

A particularly strong gust blew past them, whipping Ron's travelling cloak around and into Hermione's face.

"Ron!"

"That was the wind, not me!"

The exclamation brought him back to the present, and he was barely aware of Ron and Hermione's constant bickering. What he saw instead were his two best friends.

"Stop it, you're pulling my hair—"

They had been through so much together and for the first time in a long time, he would be leaving them. It was ... strange.

"I'm just trying to help!"

The thought caused an involuntary lump in his throat. No matter how used to each other they already were, he knew life must move forward. And besides, they needed a break as well.

"Actually," Harry cut in, successfully halting the squabbling duo before him, "I think this is exactly what I need."

"But Harry—"

"No, Hermione. Really. I'll be ok. Besides, I think I've had my share of Dark wizards for a good while. And Quidditch has always been the one thing where I can just be … myself."

"See? Told you." Ron smirked. He pulled a Butterbeer pastry from his travel bag and began to chew on it whilst simultaneously adding: "Harry needs to relax. Maybe you should too Herm—_hey ow_!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "If you'd just stop stuffing your face for one second." She turned a sad smile towards her best friend. "Well, if it's what you really want, Harry, then just remember to owl, ok?" She didn't even let him finish; she was already crushing him in a bone-squeezing hug. "I'll miss you."

Harry embraced her whilst trying to breathe, catching Ron's eye with a wispy grin. "Don't worry, I'll write."

* * *

Strange. Everything was annoyingly strange these days.

"Now, don't forget to owl at least once a week. Tell us everything. And if you ever feel the need to speak with me or your father personally, don't think twice on it! Your cabin should be Floo equipped and—"

"Narcissa, you're smothering the boy. Just let him be already."

Draco didn't react to either of them. Instead he resisted rolling his eyes, a gesture that, in the past, would have earned him a whipping. Or at least a mild curse. Nowadays his father responded with a mere look in the other direction. Like the coward he turned out to be.

"Draco."

Speaking of said coward—"What?" he bit out impatiently. Seriously, they were going to make him be late.

"Draco, I am still your father and you will address me as so. Look at me."

Draco turned around to face the older man, his steely gaze taking in the wizard that once upon a time could make babies cry with a sheer blink.

After their retreat from the war, things had changed him to a person Draco would have never recognized had he not witnessed the transformation himself. Lucius Malfoy looked eons older, a mere fragment of the powerful aristocrat he used to be. His hair lay sullen and thin down his back, wrinkles lined various portions of his face, and every few seconds silver eyes dashed from left to right, like the antennas of a cockroach. Even his hands, the long slender, pale fingers of a Malfoy, were now knobbed and dry.

_Remember, he did it for our survival …._

Sure, Draco was glad they'd shed their darker habits, but this, this scrambling around with anxious glances and floor-directed gazes, was beyond unacceptable. It was pitiful. "Yes, _father_?"

Lucius' eye seemed to twitch slightly.

_See? Can't even take a bit of bite. Pathetic._

For a moment it seemed as if he wanted to offer him some sort of fatherly advice. Draco mentally snorted. _Yeah, right. Sorry dad, your 'loving father' card went out the door along with your balls. Not to mention you might chip a nail._

Instead he settled for a brief pat on the shoulder. "I hope you find what you're looking for, son."

This time Draco did roll his eyes. It was bloody Quidditch camp. Not some 'path of self-discovery'. The only reason he'd agreed on going was to get away from the two sacks of 'Useless' and 'Hopeless' that were now his parents. It hadn't been enough that the press was constantly on his case, inquiring what it was like to have betrayed the Dark Lord. No, his parents had to one-up him and turn into fucking Hufflepuffs.

But Draco knew the real reason behind his parents' most recent donations, their public appearances, their insufferable brown-nosing: they were scared. Scared some of the old gang might seek revenge on them. Scared any wrong move might send them to Azkaban. Scared for their miserable lives. And so they had turned a complete three-sixty.

And it was appalling.

For the love of God, Draco was scared too! But unlike them he refused to lose his dignity, refused to become another spoil of war. He was proud of being a Malfoy, dammit!

"Have fun, Draco. Remember that—that we love you." Narcissa murmured quietly as she wrapped him in an awkward embrace.

Draco tentatively put his arms around his mother. He didn't mind the hugs so much from her—she'd always been one for protecting him, after all—but her words were still odd. And bloody hell, was she crying? He wasn't going on another mission of the Dark Lord's, for pete's sake.

He mumbled something in return, though even he wasn't sure if 'I love you too' could be deciphered from the incoherent jumble. Verbal affection had been almost nonexistent before _him_. Glancing warily at his father, Lucius merely nodded and motioned towards the portkey.

_Well at least he didn't try to hug me. That would have just been wrong._

Draco gave them both one more nod before reaching for the portkey. The last image he saw was another strange one: his father hugging his now sobbing mother against his chest, an inexplicable emotion on his face.

_Emotions. Pfft._

He really hoped Quidditch camp resembled something normal.

* * *

Portkey had never been his ideal way to travel, but the camp's whereabouts were Unplottable. Harry had no idea why a mere Quidditch camp would need to be hidden; Voldemort was dead after all. Nonetheless, he felt a deep sense of relief knowing the media would be hard-pressed to find him here.

Fame. Glory. Power. Money. None of it was for him. Not by choice anyway.

"Harry!"

Harry whirled around. And his jaw dropped. "Wood?"

There he was. Oliver Wood, his old Quidditch captain, as muscled and dashing as anyone who'd known him would expect him to be.

"Harry! Been expecting you all morning!" He jogged towards the shorter teen with a bright smile.

And as much as Harry envied those pearly whites, he grinned back and stuck out his hand. "Wood. Good to see you again—"

"Ah come on now, that's no way to greet your old Captain."

And in one fluid gesture Harry was swept into a very manly one armed hug. Wood was laughing. "Got some more beef on you now, good, good. Even the best Seekers need to be well-chiseled."

Harry laughed warily. The only reason he was slightly more than just bones was due to the war. But he wouldn't say it aloud. Instead he opted for something safer. "So you're coming to camp too then?"

Wood chuckled, amused. "Me? A camper? Are you out of your mind?"

Harry looked confused. "Then what—"

"I'm one of your senior counselors, of course! Which is why I was waiting for you. See, I've put you into the best cabin we have around here."

Harry began to protest immediately. "Look, Wood, that's really not necessary. I just want—"

"Nonsense!" He clapped him on the back, causing Harry to wince slightly. "Only the best for a future fellow teammate." He winked knowingly at the younger and then leaned in closer to whisper in a rushed tone. "Just keep it on the down low, wouldn't want anyone thinking you're a favorite or anything."

Harry offered a weak smile. A favorite? Him? Harry freaking Potter? No, of course not.

Oliver continued talking as they made their way over to where Harry would be staying for the next twelve months. He pointed out a few other cabins on the way, though Harry was hardly paying attention. Instead, he looked around on his own account, recognizing a few other familiar faces and nodding in acknowledgement. Terry Boot, Dean Thomas, Katie Bell, just to name a few.

_Too bad Ginny didn't come_ … the thought of the fiery girl caused a fluttery feeling to erupt in his stomach_. Don't. Don't—not right now. There'll be time for that later._

"And here we are."

Harry followed the other into what was quite visibly, the largest camper's cabin in the entire vicinity. This time he did sigh.

"What's the matter? I thought—"

"No, it's great, Wood, thanks," Harry interrupted quickly, giving what he hoped resembled a grateful smile. Truth be told, he really didn't want any special treatment. The fact that Oliver Wood, one of the few people at Hogwarts who never held back in treating him normally at school—sans the various lectures—had decided to give him the best cabin was unsettling. Just how many more people were going to treat him like some bloody saint? He'd come to Quidditch camp to get away from it all. Not to—

"Potter!"

Harry came out of his musings when the older teen was suddenly inches from his face, an irritated expression on his handsome features.

"Is there a problem, Potter?"

"No, I just—"

"Do you not like the cabin?"

"It's great, I just thought—"

"Would you prefer the cabin next to the crapper?"

Harry blinked, unsure of how to respond when his old captain now stood mere centimeters from his face, nostrils flared and eyes narrowed. "Well n—"

And then Wood laughed and took a step back, his face morphing back to his just minutes ago grin. "I'm only joking. Just keeping you on your toes, that's all. Don't think I'm going to take it easy on you just because of your name sake, Harry Potter. Now hurry up, get settled in. We meet at the pitch at dusk."

Harry stared as the senior counselor turned and walked away.

Maybe things wouldn't be so bad after all.

He smiled and made his way inside cabin eleven.

* * *

He landed with a graceful thud and began to immediately assess his surroundings. Draco scoffed.

Cabins. Cabins with uneven wooden signs that read things such as 'Perky's Potions' and 'Thrifty Broomish'. And numbers. Lots of numbered cabins. He could see the Quidditch pitch several hundred yards away, but it was too far for him to properly evaluate. Judging from the looks of things so far, though, his doubts were evident. Perhaps the place had been founded by a Weasley.

He hoped his cabin wasn't this shabby. He just might have to kill himself.

"Let's see." He pulled out his rooming key and looked at the number. He frowned when it began to change sporadically. "What the fu—"

"Hello there. You must be Draco Malfoy."

Draco looked up. His frown grew heavier when he immediately recognized the speaker. "I am."

The handsome-looking man walked towards him, a smug expression on his face. "I'm sure you remember me so no need for introductions, Malfoy. Now, unfortunately since you arrived so late we only have cabin three lef—"

"I already have a cabin. Only, my key seems to be going haywire."

Wood frowned. "Key? No one has a k—"

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy, you've arrived. I was told to personally escort you to your cabin. Right this way—"

"Just a second, Krum. I'm escorting all new campers. And besides, that cabin is already—"

Viktor Krum and Oliver Wood began to get into a heated discussion, which Draco tuned out. He was slightly miffed that his parents had found a way to annoy him even in their absence. Viktor Krum? Really? This is who his parents thought would prove a convenient acquaintance at this bloody camp? Because he was sure it was his parents' doing. Leave it to them to get the one professional Quidditch player that he absolutely despised. So what if he was famous? The bloke was an utter moron.

"—fine then!"

Draco raised an eyebrow. It seemed the oaf had won the argument at least. He turned an inquiring glance towards the ridiculously beefed up Bulgarian whilst the other stormed off in another direction.

"Right. So, there has been a slight change of plans. Do not worry, you will still stay in the cabin you were assigned to. However, another camper was already placed there so—"

"A roommate? In _my_ cabin? Just a second, beefcakes, but I'm positive my parents gave an exceptional amount—"

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy, they did. But every cabin is situated for two or more campers. Even yours. This is why your key began to malfunction. Quidditch is all about teamwork, after all, and that begins with getting along with others. As it stands, your roommate is already situated and thus there is nothing we can do about it."

Draco didn't reply at first, still mulling over the fact that Viktor Krum actually used the word 'malfunction' in a sentence.

"Mr. Malfoy?"

_Oh. Right, he's still talking_. This sharing of a cabin could be annoying. An idea occurred to him. "Well, as it so happens, Wood said that cabin three was available—"

"Wood was wrong. Cabin three was just moved into."

Draco scowled but immediately masked his face into an emotionless blank. It was just a roommate, no need to get all hissy about it, right?

"And anyway," Krum continued to speak, as he hoisted Draco's trunk onto his shoulder—Draco scoffed at that, now the muscle-head was just showing off—"the cabin is quite spacious so I'm sure you will have all the room you need."

Draco didn't reply, just followed the older man as they made their way to _his_ cabin.

* * *

Wood hadn't been lying. This cabin was pretty awesome. Mahogany floor boards, plush comfortable beds and sofas, a miniature kitchen and dining area, their own bathroom. It was a spacious room that was easily twice the size of the dorms back at Hogwarts. There was even a small nook attached at one end that resembled a miniature owlery. Six to eight campers would fit quite comfortably and yet the room was fashioned with only two bunks, each on opposite ends of the room.

But best of all: the fireplace, complete with Floo powder.

Despite knowing the separation was inevitable—and to an extent, necessary—Harry couldn't fool himself. A year without his friends was going to be tough. Or would have been. And so he definitely needed to thank Wood for this.

He was already settled in, having finished by placing his Firebolt against the corner of his four poster. Genevieve, his new owl, chirped happily in the adjoining nook and Harry flopped onto his bed.

Perhaps this year would be better than he imagined.

* * *

"Is there nothing you can do, sir? I'm telling you, this arrangement is—"

"Oliver, I already told you no. And besides, here at Camp Q we like to inspire more than simply throwing a few balls around. Haha! Get it? Balls? Hmmm?"

Wood rolled his eyes with his superior's lame—not to mention inappropriate—joke. "Haha. Very funny. But sir—"

"Funny? I thought it was hilarious! Heard that one from Bigby the other day. Curious woman, she is. Anyway, Camp Q. A place where young men and woman can learn the importance of—"

"Yes, yes, embrace your teammates, work well together, yada, yada, yada. I get it. But you don't seem to understand the severity of this particular case. At Hogwarts—"

"Hogwarts is in the past, Mr. _Wood_, and most of these campers are of age."

"But—"

"Given that," the older man continued, "I would think they know how to set aside their differences and deal with their situation like adults. Unless you are implying them unfit for this camp, I see no problem with any arrangements. So, what will it be, hmmm?

Oliver Wood set his mouth in a grim line. It was a lose-lose situation if he ever saw one. And man did he hate losing. But not as much as he pitied his younger future teammate. "Nothing, sir."

He strode towards the door, but just as he was about to exit—

"Oh and Oliver?"

"Yes, director?"

"Since you seem to be so concerned for Mr. Potter, perhaps you should keep an extra eye on him, hmmm?"

"I planned on it." And he left.

The camp director chuckled to himself. Not get along? What a bunch of pish-posh. Rivalry was part of Quidditch, after all. Things would work out just fine.

* * *

Once Krum had left him alone—and thank goodness he wasn't rooming with _that_ guy—Draco made a beeline for the empty bed. Gods but he was suddenly exhausted. It must be the absurd surrounding of idiots.

He flopped on the bed much the same as had his roommate before. _Well at least the bed is comfortable_. Refusing to get up, he peered through his peripherals and inspected the hellhole that was to be his living space for the next year.

Hard floors, faded upholstery, a dingy hole for his eagle owl, a door leading to an undoubtedly small bathroom in one corner, and a decaying fireplace.

_Great …_

A loud yawn emitted from across the room. _Oh yes, mustn't forget that particular detail._ The closed-in four poster at the other end of the room.

Particular detail aside, it wasn't too different from the Slytherin dorms, and Draco could always order in any material object that needed refurbishing, but then again—

"Ugh, maybe I should have just stayed home …" Draco glanced at the other occupant's side of the room. Thankfully, the four posters held drapes, thus ensuring their bearers at least a _bit_ of privacy. _Good, I can jerk off in peace then_. Nonetheless, for the moment those drapes were a bit annoying. His roommate was either not here right now, or behind those musty old rags. Draco was betting on the latter. His curiosity fought with his laziness, and in the end he pulled himself off the bed with a loud huff.

In a few strides he was on the other side of the room, eyeing his unknown roommate's belongings. Black luggage, black broomstick—a Firebolt at that—black socks he'd apparently kicked off, and—

"Hoo! Hoo!"

—a black owl.

Draco smirked. Well, at least the bloke had decent taste in color. Black was much better than red or gold, after all. Or gods forbid, _yellow_. Yikes.

Now to see who his year-long roomy was. He figured the guy was just waking up, having made quite a ruckus as he'd entered the cabin. And so, using only the tips of his fingers to pull back one corner of the hanging drapes, Draco whipped it back, peering in at the same time.

Only, said occupant had decided to swing his legs out at precisely that exact second and—

"_Ow!_

"_Oof_!

Both boys fell onto the floor. Hard. Right on top of each other.

But the pain was nothing compared to what silver and green eyes perceived upon opening up.

"_You!"_

"_You_!"

And tangled on the floor, limbs splayed in areas they would never place into contact with each other, and faces so close to another they might almost be snogging, were—

"_Get the fuck off me_!"

—Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.

* * *

**Still hoping for some more feedback, see if this is going anywhere. Review please :) **


	3. Greetings

**Hello. Question: should I reply to anonymous reviewers at the end of each chapter? Let me know. And thank you all to those who have reviewed thus far. Hope I can keep bringing good stuff; though, I must warn you, this is an informative filler chapter. But it has some er, little highlights.**

**Don't own, but would love to. Draco Malfoy in particular.**

* * *

Harry didn't need to be told twice. 'Get the fuck off him' was among a list of things he'd like to do to Draco Malfoy in this moment. An emotion in lieu of the other's rage lingered in the back of his mind, but there would be time to dwell on that fact later. Unfortunately his wand was on his dresser. He quickly got to his feet, reaching immediately to his right—

"_Accio wand_!"

—and whirled around to face the white-blond haired Slytherin that stood in front of him.

Draco Malfoy. Harry noted immediately how much the other's appearance had changed since their last encounter. His hair was longer, physique taller and leaner, harder somehow, and his stance completely defensive, albeit the absence of snarky remarks. But these were the least of alterations; for a single moment, something glinted in his eyes. And it was this that seemed to hold the most significance.

Silver-blue orbs that watched him unblinkingly. Eyes full of knowledge and anger and pain, that had witnessed tragedy, met his searchingly, angrily, worn heavy for the epidemic of Lord Voldemort.

Eyes so like his own.

A series of expressions seemed to flicker across Draco's expression, Harry's wand held firmly in his other hand. And though those silvery eyes still held the frigidness and loathing Harry had grown up with, there was also an odd sense of ... vulnerability? Harry couldn't quite place it, but it was very disconcerting.

They stared at each other for a few seconds more, their awkward situation extending before the silence like a barren wasteland. Finally, Harry spoke.

"Give me my wand, Malfoy."

"What are you doing here?"

Despite the other's slightly subdued nature, irritation swelled like a fungus inside his head, and Harry immediately snapped: "I would think that was obvious."

The heated response seemed to trigger something and Draco's eyebrows furrowed. When he spoke, however, his tone was much quieter than before and he purposefully looked away. "Look, Potter, I didn't mean—I wasn't expecting—"

"Weren't expecting me. Yeah, I gathered as much."

Draco shook his head, though he held tight to the other's wand. "You don't get it. This was supposed to be a ge—I was supposed to be alon—weren't you going to Auror training?"

Of course he would think that. It's what everyone had expected of him. Harry glared. "Change of plans. So sorry to upset you but I'm not going anywhere."

Draco lowered his wand and raked a hand through his hair. "Come on, Potter, it's just—It would never work. You and I. And you know it, so—"

"So get out. I was here first."

Somewhere in his head, he could hear Hermione's voice: _Harry, what are you doing? Stop acting this way_. Where this childish behavior stemmed from, he had no idea, but the urge to ruse up the blond was inescapable. Perhaps it was the fact that Draco was so unfamiliar in his own civility, so like the cowed young man he'd seen tried but a few weeks ago, voice-less and blank. Not the smug, hateful Draco Malfoy he'd grown up with. And perhaps it was this reality, this passive Draco, that Harry, for some inexplicable reason, just could not stand. Perhaps this single abnormality, amidst a plethora of generalizations expected of him, was just too much to bear, or perhaps it _was_ a perfectly normal response from a former nemesis. Either way, one thing was for sure: Harry was thinking too much, and this alone served as a perfectly good reason to provoke the Malfoy in front of him.

_Why? What has he done that requires provoking_?

_Hermione, get out of my head._

A pause ensued, and Draco looked at him through indecipherable eyes, studying Harry behind a curtain of silver.

Harry balled his fists. _Right—_Ron?_—He's a Malfoy, no reason needed. So maybe you should just smack him up his ferretty as_—

"Not likely."

Harry started, his friends' imaginary voices wiped out with the stabbing coolness of Draco's now suddenly hardened tone.

Draco's eyes narrowed and he grasped both wands tighter, raising his in the air once more. "This cabin is mine, and it was intended to be _solely_ mine."

Memories of Hogwarts flooded his mind, their countless encounters flashing through his head. It was familiar, and Harry caught himself grinning whilst answering a bit smugly. "Clearly not since I'm here."

Draco returned in a contemptible drawl. "Your perception astounds me, Potter, but contrary to what you might believe, your name sake holds no weight here."

"Neither does your money."

"Actually—"

"And if it weren't for me _your_ name sake would definitely hold some weight. And not in a good way."

Draco's gaze darkened substantially, and for a moment Harry witnessed an emotion far more ingrained than any other in the former Death Eater.

"Bringing that up, are you? My family and I have already thanked you, or is it not enough? Bloody saint Potter, indeed." He spat. "And yet, might I remind you that if it weren't for _my_ mother, you wouldn't be here at all."

_Resentment_ … Harry felt a pang of guilt course through his body, but in light of staying in control, he folded his arms and glared at the other. "I'm not leaving."

Draco fixed an even gaze on the other and replied smoothly. "Neither am I. And I have your wand. So."

A bitter laugh escaped the black-haired teen. "So what? You're going to hex me? Unarmed? Just like your spineless fath—"

"Shut up! How dare you even—"

"How dare I? Unbelievable! Even after I saved your sorry arse you still act like a—"

"_Sorpens—"_

"_Expelliarmus!"_

Both Harry and Draco's wands flew out of the blond's hand and across the room into the cabin's new occupant. Both teens veered towards the intruder simultaneously opening their mouths to speak only—

"Mr. Potter. Mr. Malfoy. I think that's quite enough."

* * *

Viktor Krum stood with his arms folded over his chest, nose turned somewhat down, and a line stretched thinly across the bottom half of his face. When he spoke, it was slow and careful, as if his counterpart might make haste to explode any second.

"I am not sure, if you want my honest opinion. I think, given enough time—"

"Will you shut up with your stupid theories and assumptions already?" Blasted Oliver Wood. "I'm telling you, Harry has enough on his plate as it is. Why, can you imagine the extra pressure he's going to be getting just by being who he is?"

"Well, what else would he expect? He did defeat You-Know—"

Oliver threw his hands up in the air and dropped into the couch, an immediate indication for his roommate to stop talking. "Not the point, Krum. I mean—"

"I thought we were past calling each other by our last nam—"

"Fine, fine! _Viktor_. Whatever." Oliver sighed. "But anyway, my point is, assigning them that poncy-looking fruit is only going to make matters worse."

"How so?"

"Don't be daft. It's obvious he has a sort of … _influence_. And Harry doesn't need that kind of confusion on top of everything else."

"And why is it of such importance to you anyway?"

Oliver scowled, throwing the other a disgusted glare with the implication. "You're sick, you know that? Isn't it obvious? Harry has the potential to be the best Seeker of all time. And Puddlemere could use a man like that. But it'll never happen if he gets scared off by this bloody camp."

The Bulgarian gave a small laugh and nodded in understanding. "It is always about the sport with you, isn't it? Scheming and planning from the very beginning."

"As it should be. If you took a leaf out of my book, maybe even your team might—"

"I don't really care whether we win or lose. They pay me either way."

Oliver snorted in derision, mumbling a stream of nonsensical profanities.

Viktor gave a small gruff of amusement, catching wind of a few choice adjectives Oliver was currently using to describe him. "So," he said, getting back to their original conversation, "you would prefer you be assigned to them then?"

"Of course. That way I can keep Harry focused."

"Perhaps he would not want—"

"You know what? Just stop talking already. Really, with an attitude like yours I don't know why they let you play."

"Because up to the present, _I_ am the best Seeker of—"

"Yeah, yeah. Yadda yadda yadda."

Viktor shook his head. "Well anyway, the Director would never allow it. You have a favorite, after all—"

"So does the Director!"

Viktor paused. "Well," he seemed to consider it, "yes, but it's not the same. And anyway, camp senior counselor Shaun—"

"Oh just shut up already. I'm tired of hearing of that prat. The way you talk about him makes me think even _you_ fancy him."

Viktor said nothing, simply strode over and sat across the other, crossing an ankle over his knee. He watched the other with a serious expression.

"You know that is impossible, Oliver."

"Hey, you're the one that talks about him like he's a bloody sex god. And anyway—"

"No. I mean it is impossible because you are the only one man I could ever see that way."

"—nearly the entire female population—_what_?"

Viktor leaned forward, his eyes staring intensely at the other.

Oliver's jaw was dropped, eyes bulged, and his face visibly paled.

And it was then that Viktor burst out laughing.

Grabbing the nearest pillow, Oliver threw it roughly at the other's head. "There is something very wrong with, you sick bastard, you know that?"

Viktor could barely breathe.

* * *

"My apologies for interrupting, gentlemen," the trespasser spoke, "but aggressive behavior towards fellow campers is best utilized on the Quidditch field, and then so only under supervision."

Prompted to do something besides stare stupidly, Draco quickly regained composure and retorted. "Who the f—"

"I am your senior camp counselor, Lance Shaunessy. I was hoping to introduce myself under a more positive atmosphere, but at least I arrived just in time. See, there is no brawling, and or bullying tolerated here at Camp Q—"

"You don't understand, we—"

"I am well aware of who you both are and your history together. However, I must regretfully inform you that this cabin is where your special treatment ends. Here at Camp Q we like to encourage teamwork, amongst all other aspects. And believe me when I say that hatred can be overcome."

With a slight pink hue on his cheeks, and embarrassed for having not said a word as of yet, Harry pointedly looked away from the assistant director and murmured. "I doubt, even with—"

"I don't hate—"

Both boys paused and looked at each other, an inexpressible gaze. "What's that suppose—"

"Stop blushing like a damn girl and shut it, Potter. The grown ups are trying to cooperate."

"Hey, I saw you too, so don't even—"

A soft chuckle followed, and Lance cleared his throat, successfully halting their banter and gaining their attention once more. "See? You sound like a married couple already, and anyway," he continued, ignoring the horrified expressions that surfaced on their faces, "all cabins are full and the camp portal is closed. So whether you like it or not, you will be staying here in cabin eleven for at least another six months."

Harry looked at him incredulously. "Are you joking? We're going to kill each other."

"And what do you mean by the portal is closed? My mother specified that—"

"That you be Floo equipped. And you are, though unlike other Floo's you will only be able to fire- call through here. We are Unplottable for a reason, Mr. Malfoy, and we would like to stay that way. It's all part of our discipline program, you understand. And Mr. Potter, I am in no way trying to be funny."

There was a stagnant pause in which each teen stole a glance at each other and then back at the smiling man in front of them. Draco crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. "So I'm basically stuck with the Boy Wonder then."

Harry rolled his eyes and sat down on his bed heavily. "Well this is just … freaking fantastic ..."

"Brilliant then!" The sudden clap caused them to stop glaring at each other and eye the young man warily. "Again, good to have you on board. See you at the pitch in a bit. You'll find extra gear in the closet if you need it. I trust I can return to you your wands?"

Both boys nodded grudgingly, each receiving their wand in return.

As soon as he left, Draco turned back to Harry with a hard look. "Alright. So let's get some things straight, Potter. Don't think, for one second, that just because you pulled me out of that fire that I'm going to kiss your ass like everyone else in the wonderful wizarding world of Harry Potter. I'm not, so might as well get that through your thick head right now—"

"Malfoy?"

Draco stopped, annoyed with the interruption. "What!"

Harry looked uncomfortable as he spoke. "Did you notice anything, well, strange about that Lance bloke?"

Draco seemed to mull it over for a moment, his bottom lip dropping as if he might actually give an answer. And then: "Just stay on your side of the room, don't touch my stuff, and leave me alone."

Harry glanced up in mild surprise and then frowned. "Fine." He snapped, and then added as an afterthought: "Just don't leave your hair and nail products all over the bathroom either."

Draco's eyes narrowed into slits and he strode away, kicking a piece of Harry's luggage along the way. It opened, and half of Harry's wardrobe spilled out onto the floor.

Harry muttered under his breath as he reached for his clothes. "You and I indeed."

* * *

The evening air was brisk, lightly cool against the flesh and whistling with anticipation. Dusk was settling into darkness quickly, a canvas of melding colours, orange into purple into a deep clear blue, and the camp quidditch pitch stood like an ancient arena below the vast expanse, proud and sturdy. Large pillars surrounded the sports ground, faded bands of gold and silver entwined around each structure, and three hoops, one set on each side, levitated on either end. And wrapping around the entire place, a cacophony of green and brown, trees and woodland alike. A single path could be made out, and it was through here that the campers filed through and onto the field, curious gazes taking in every detail.

Draco strode in, purposefully avoiding any form of eye contact with any of the other campers and staff. It wasn't difficult, as most of the campers seemed to give him a wide berth upon recognizing his face, hushed whispers and sneers directed his way. But of course none of that bothered him in the least. He was used to being alone, and anyone who dare mock him could just go fuck themselves.

Harry, he noticed, was already a good ways ahead of him and talking to another camper as they took their seats at the far right of the small podium. Draco sat on the far left.

"Greetings! And welcome to Camp Q, youngsters!"

He turned his attention to the front where a stout man was beaming stupidly and clasping pudgy hands atop what must have been the largest belly in all of Europe. "I expect you all have settled in, hmmm?"

A chorus of grunts and whistles echoed in response, which seemed to broaden the director's grin. Draco resisted pinching the bridge of his nose and rolling his eyes. It seemed he was destined to be surrounded by people he knew he wouldn't like. He may as well be in a crowd of Hufflepuffs.

"Is that Harry Potter over there?" someone whispered behind him.

Oh. Right. Mustn't forget the stupid Gryffindors in attendance as well.

"It is my great privilege to be here this fine evening, hmmm?" The man continued in a cheery voice. "Thirty second year running, and troubled times withstanding, we are proud to still be here today!"

Another applause followed his exclamation. Fortunately it was cut short when the man motioned for silence as he progressed with the welcome speech.

"Decades of healthy competition and discipline, tradition and camaraderie, building upon character and new friendships. Are you getting my drift, hmmm? We don't just play Quidditch here at Camp Q, we strive for excellence in all these skills, hmmm? Ninety percent of Quidditch International's players began here, and you can bet your Nimbus Infinity's that should you get through this camp, you'll be signed up in no time, hmmm? Isn't that right Mr. Krum?"

"Well actua—"

"Very good! Very good. Well, enough of me, hmmm? I'll hand you over to one of our camp senior counselors, Lance Shaunessy. And by the way, I'm Velifer Slughorn, Camp Q director. But you can call me Director V. Have a great evening everyone! And beware the flying fish!"

A murmur rippled through the campers as the tubby man made his way off the podium and to his seat. Draco followed their interested gazes and frowned. It was _him_ again.

"Good evening," said the soft, rich voice, "and thank you Director V, for that enlightening introduction. My deepest apologies, but mine won't be nearly as thrilling, I'm afraid. We're just going to go over some of the rules and procedures."

The majority of the female population—as well as some of the male—seemed to suddenly sit straighter, if not leaning forward to gape in awe at the man that now stood before them. Draco highly suspected the man could rant about the history behind Professor Binn's childhood and still be considered anything but boring.

"—and while we're at it," he continued, "here are the rest of your junior and senior counselors: Marcus Flint, Pamela Parkinson, Terry Robbins, Viktor Krum, Gretchen Bigby, and Oliver Wood. They'll be coming around your cabins later tonight to introduce themselves, your delegated counselors that is. There are two for each cabin, a senior and a junior, and I advise you to be friendly to them, because he or she is your link to pretty much everything on these grounds. In addition, if you have any issues concerning anything at all, you will address them to your cabin counselor. Director V is another alternative but for the sake of order, we do request you at least try your counselor first. Any questions so far?"

A high-pitched squeal came out from somewhere. "Are you single?"

An encore of giggles and laughter immediately followed, and even Lance Shaunessy, somewhat red in the face, couldn't hold back a small laugh. The sound, if even possible, only seemed to enlighten his already seamless features. "Alrighty. Um, well moving on, we do have a couple of rules that I highly esteem you all to follow for the sake of your own safety. First and foremost, no bullying of any sort and/or brawling will be tolerated. Period."

Draco swore he stared right at him as he spoke, and he felt an irritating flush creep up his neck. He cast a quick glance towards his roommate and was pleased to see the bright red face that sat beneath that mop of black hair.

"Out on the quidditch field accidents are bound to happen. And so, to minimize any serious injuries, this will be a constant mantra you all will follow. Rule number two," he continued, "stay within the camp grounds. We are UnPlottable and so constantly changing location. If you were to find yourself out of bounds, you might very well find yourself lost in UnPlottable territory and it would be very, very difficult to locate you."

There were a few anxious faces with the last bit of information, though most of the campers seemed to take it in stride. Harry, Draco noticed, had his brow furrowed as if in deep thought.

_Probably can't get his microscopic brain around the concept …_

"Right, so just one more piece of advice from me. You've already been situated in your designated cabin, and so I also suggest you get to know your roommates. You'll be living with them for at least six months from here on out. Some of you are wondering why I'm saying six months and not the year. Here's the thing: at the six month mark, the camp portal opens for exactly twenty-four hours. During this time, you are all given the option of returning home or staying on. If you do choose to leave, please note that you may not sign-up for Camp Q for at least another two years. More details on that when the time comes. Any other _relevant_ questions?"

A few scattered giggles went through the crowd, and then: "Yeah, can we fly already?"

An imperceptible grin spread across Lance's face, an almost secretive gesture, and he laughed quietly. "Not quite yet. We have one more speak—"

Suddenly a loud thunder-like clap sounded, startling the campers. They swerved towards a red-faced Oliver Wood. "Well don't just sit there!" He yelled. "What are you all still staring for? Grab your broomsticks and get a move on! Anyone who can't keep up will be stuck on mess duty!"

Confused faces stared as the senior counselor disappeared in a cloud of smoke. Lance Shaunessy stood open-mouthed. He quickly regained poise and turned another broad smile towards the campers. "And that would be Oliver Wood." Much to everyone's surprise—and confusion—the handsome counselor slid a leg over his broomstick and rose up into the air.

"Do we follow?"

"He isn't serious. He can't be. That's a Nimbus Infinity. There's no way—"

But Draco wasn't listening. Harry Potter was already in the air, dashing after his previous captain and he'd be damned if that prick was going to beat him on his first day. He took off at breakneck speed.

"Hey, who are those two?"

"I think that was Draco Malfoy."

"Oy! And Harry Potter! I'm sure of it!"

And just like that, the entirety of Camp Q mounted their brooms, kicked off the ground, and raced after the pin prick of a broom tail that was Oliver Wood.

* * *

Harry dragged his feet into cabin eleven, his Firebolt held loosely in his left hand and most of his quidditch gear in his other. Oliver had flown them across what had to have been the entire continent, and at breakneck speed. In the end, only a few campers had managed to keep up—the rest had doubled back with Lance, though there were an awful lot of girls. Unfortunately for Harry, that meant he was only barely arriving, wearing nothing but his training trousers and boots for all the sweat he'd accumulated.

"It's bloody fantastic."

Harry frowned. He couldn't see the blond prat but that was obviously him, muttering to himself. Draco had been among those who'd kept up. How had he gotten here so quickly?

The torch in the restroom was on, and Harry shrugged. It didn't matter. Perhaps the git just wanted to beat Harry to the cabin to assuage his own ego. Harry didn't care, right now all he wanted was a nice, hot shower and to go to bed. Hopefully the Malfoy nuisance wasn't still in there.

Sitting down slowly, he took off his boots and trousers, letting the air stream into his boxers with a euphoric sense of relief.

"No, I told you I'm fine. The room's big enough for us to share anyway so it's not a big deal."

Harry stopped suddenly, the sharp tone of another voice—a female voice—coming into focus.

"Well in light of our change of pace I suppose there isn't much we can do. But enough of that. How is everyone else treating you? And goodness Draco you're looking paler already, darling, have you eaten?"

Harry peered cautiously around his four-poster, making sure to stay out of view.

Draco was standing in front of the fire-place with his hand across his eyes. He sighed. "Yes, mother, I told you, we just finished training a while ago. And everyone is fine and keeping their distance, as expected."

Harry knew he shouldn't be eavesdropping. Draco would have a fit, no doubt. But what else did he expect? They shared a room together and the idiot hadn't even bothered with any kind of privacy spell.

Narcissa pursed her lips. "Draco, we talked about this."

Draco threw his arms up exasperatedly. "Don't start, mother. Not again. I've already told you—"

"Fine. Fine. I know. 'No one wants to befriend a Malfoy'. But dear, if you would only just—"

"Drop it."

Harry was shocked. For all the times that he'd seen Draco interact with his parents, he was obedient and completely loyal, like a well-trained poodle, who barked and ran circles around anyone else that weren't his parents or his parent's friends. Only now it seemed he was actually telling his mother to shut up. And even more bizarre, his mother was shutting up. Was this another result of the war?

"Although," Draco was saying, his face contorted thoughtfully, "I suppose there is one newsworthy person. Mother, have you ever heard of the name Shaunessy?"

A perfectly shaped brow rose and Narcissa gave her son a quizzical look. "Why yes, don't you remember? They are members of the Belgium royal Veela fam—"

"I knew it!" He exclaimed, causing Narcisssa to stop midsentence.

She frowned. "What do you mean? And why do you ask—" She gasped. "No! They couldn't possibly—"

Draco gave her an amused look. "Yes, actually. Our senior counselor. But mother, why do you look so shocked? Surely, given our 'new change of pace', this is a remarkable thing."

Not one to be easily flustered, Narcissa flushed. "Of course, you're right. My apologies, I shouldn't have—"

"He's part Veela?"

Draco froze. Narcissa's eyes widened.

Harry cringed. He'd said that out loud, hadn't he? He immediately tried to compose his surprise, inwardly cursing himself for having said anything at all. And then—

"Mr. Potter. So good to see you again."

Harry gave a small nod and what he hoped to be a polite smile. "Mrs. Malfoy." He immediately turned away in embarrassment, though it wasn't quick enough for him not to hear Narcissa's next quiet words.

"Draco, what is he doing in your cabin?"

"Alright mother, I think that's enough for tonight."

"Don't be rude, Draco. Harry Potter is in your room. In his underwear I might add. Now answer my question."

"Mother he's … he's …"

Harry heard the exchange with slowly widening eyes and despite being mortified for being caught by none other than Narcissa Malfoy in nothing but his boxers, he suddenly realized something. _He hasn't told her yet_ … He stole a glance at the other.

Draco, for all his composure and indifference, looked _very_ uncomfortable.

_But why doesn't he want to tell her? Surely they don't hate me that much? After everything that happened?_

"Is there something going on that we should know about, Draco?"

"What are you—gods, no! What is wrong with you, woman!"

Harry settled into his four-poster once more. He couldn't think of many reasons as to why Draco didn't want his parents knowing who his roommate was; namely, himself. But right now he just wished the blond idiot would just tell her already and end the conversation. He really wanted to take that shower and preferably without having to flash Narcissa Malfoy once more.

"Because if there's anything you need to tell me, Draco, you can tell me. I remember perfectly well your little obsession with those dolls back in—"

"Those weren't dolls, they were action figures. And mother, for fucks sake, I'd appreciate if you stopped bringing that up."

_What are they talking about now? Dolls?_

"Draco, you know I would support you in anything you do. And that includes _who_ you do as—"

"Mother!"

Harry nearly toppled off the bed. Did she really think that he and Draco were—and that they were—Disgust assaulted his stomach, and in one second he was off the bed and racing towards the restroom.

"I'm just his roommate!" He yelled, slamming the door for effect. He barely made it to the toilet in time.

* * *

Inside the cabin Narcissa frowned. "So he's your roommate. I'm going to have to speak with your father about this, Draco. I don't think—"

"Good night, mother." And Draco doused the flames with his wand.

* * *

Harry Potter stepped out of the restroom looking completely relaxed, a stupid thoughtful expression on his stupid face. He made no move to even look at the other, and if observed closely, seemed to be avidly avoiding eye contact.

But Draco was having none of that. Not after what that Gryffindor moron had told his mother. "So," he retorted loudly, "how was your shower, Potter?"

Harry gave him a fleeting glance but said nothing.

"I hope you're happy with your big mouth." Draco continued, unperturbed.

Harry was already getting ready for bed, ignoring the Slytherin whilst he placed his glasses alongside his bed.

Draco strode over and angrily threw said glasses onto the floor.

"Hey, what's your problem?" Harry snapped, reaching down to grab them, but Draco blocked him.

"My problem," Draco spit out, "is that you don't know when to mind your own business."

Harry scowled. "I don't see what the big deal is. So I'm your roommate. Big whoop."

"Big whoop? Not a big deal?" Draco folded his arms and laughed bitterly. "Right. I forget how stupid you can be."

"There's nothing stupid about it, Malfoy. And besides, your mother was already assuming that we were—that you and I were—well, you know."

Draco gave a nasty sneer. "What? You can't even say it? It's called _sex_, Potter. I'm sure even the Weaslette would give it to you if you didn't have such a small—"

"Don't you dare talk about Ginny."

Harry was standing now, his face level with the smirking Slytherin.

"Hit a soft spot, have I?" Draco returned tauntingly. "Let me guess, couldn't find the right hole?"

"If you don't shut up about her, Malfoy, I swear I'll—"

Draco snorted. "I don't give a shit about your love life." His demeanor turned cold once more. "If you hadn't been prancing around in your fucking underwear—"

"This is my cabin too. And I was on my way to the shower."

"And let me guess, eavesdropping is one of the many rights Harry Saint Potter has too?"

"It isn't my fault you don't know how to perform a simple Silencing Spell."

"Well I wasn't counting on having a nosy Gryffindor for an effin roommate!"

Harry was losing his temper. "What is the big fucking deal? I know your family hates me but why is it so wrong that your parents know—"

"Because you're Harry Potter, savior of the world, and I'm Draco Malfoy, ex-Death Eater. And in case you haven't noticed, we don't exactly get along."

"It's always been like that. I still don't—"

"Look, Potter, shut up for just one second and let my try to explain for in words for your tiny brain to comprehend." Draco was breathing hard, his face flushed an angry pink and his silvery eyes staring daggers at the Gryffindor in front of him, who had suddenly gone quiet. "You and I, we don't belong to the same crowd, much less the same room. It's the perfect potion for trouble, and so when that trouble comes knocking," he barked out a hostile laugh, "three guesses whose going to get the blame for everything. And my parents and I," he paused, taking a breath, "they can't handle any more changes."

Harry, he noticed, appeared to be searching for the right words to say. He frowned, sitting down at the same time. "I still don't get what us sharing a room has to do with this."

Draco looked at the other incredulously. "Did you not see the exchange with my mother? They won't leave me the fuck alone since the war ended, and now with you in the equation—you know what? Forget it. I'm wasting my time. You're too much of a brainless idiot to understand."

He stalked away in a huff, purposefully kicking Harry's glasses under his bed as he went.

_Stupid Potter. And stupid your damned self. Idiot, baring your problems for the Boy Wonder to understand. Even if he were capable he wouldn't give a damned fuck. Probably best he didn't understand, otherwise he'd be laughing and pointing. _

Draco threw himself into the restroom, eager to take a long and much needed shower. Only-

"Great. There's no more fucking hot water."

He tried a warming spell but it seemed the pipes were so old that it had no effect. Draco cursed the day Harry Potter was born.

There were only a number of things he could do whilst waiting.

_Well, he does have _one_ good point. _

"_Muffliato_."

* * *

**Review please :)**


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